You would think that, after talking about week one, I'd be quick to speak about week two. But week two, well, week two is a hard one for me to talk about.
Without going into much exhaustive boring detail, I credit Neil Gaiman's work with pulling me out of a deep and abiding depression. Specifically, after reading Smoke & Mirrors, I finally admitted to myself that writing was important to me, was what I wanted to do with my life. And admitting that allowed me to start working toward a goal I actually believed in.
But you don't care about that.
What's he like, you're wondering.
What'd you learn, you want to ask.
I know I would, if our positions reversed.
Well, let me reassure you. Neil Gaiman is every bit as kind as he seems. He rescued my seagull mug after I nervously mumbled to him about it. He's also a funny, blunt, and demanding teacher. Tragically, almost our whole class decided to try something ambitious and experimental for Neil's week. Results were... mixed.
My results were sort of dismal.
Neil talked to us about tables, and how it wasn't enough to pretend to build a table, by, say, building something with two legs and getting some trick mirrors in place. You needed to build an actual table, something stable, something you could set things on without having them roll off again.
He also talked to us about how the best writing is honest and exposed. He told us that negative feedback should hurt, that there should be enough of ourselves in our stories to allow it to hurt. You can blame that comment for the agony of reading through Matchless the next week, comrades.
So, was Neil's week everything I expected?
No. It was something entirely different than that. Better and truer and harder. Which is how life is, I think.
I did learn valuable things about writing. About putting the story first and putting myself in the story. About putting enough in the story that a reader is rewarded for looking a second time.
I learned even more valuable things about me, or about life. Those bits are harder explain. But once you've embarrassed yourself, repeatedly, in front of a hero, the world in general seems a little less embarrassing. And that's a good thing, I think. So is watching the hero bits flake off bit by bit, until you're just hanging out with a person. A person you admire and respect, but a person all the same.
I didn't do my best work in week two. I wish I could say I was impressive and sparkling but I was nervous, slightly hysterical and my story lacked a heart. I kept going anyway. That's what you do. You keep going.
